


Dinner and a Movie?

by Gayeld



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayeld/pseuds/Gayeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paying my ObSenad dues and having a little hot J/B fun while I was at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and a Movie?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sheryl and Keri for their quick betaing.

## Dinner and a Movie?

by Gayle

* * *

What the hell is Sandburg watching? One of those skinny little girls that's been going to high school for a decade on Fox is sobbing on the screen and Blair's hunched over a notebook, scribbling like mad. This is not the scene I was hoping to come home to. 

Admittedly, it's a little selfish on my part to want to become the center of his attention the second I step through the doorway. But it's been a long, frustrating day with nothing to show for it. And I was kind of hoping to come home, spend a little time necking on the couch with Blair, catch a game on TV, spend a little more time fooling around with Blair upstairs, and maybe even fit some dinner in there while I was at it. 

Instead I come home to teary blondes and a lover who hasn't even noticed I'm here. But I'm not about to let my best-laid plans go astray quite yet. Step one: get Sandburg to realize I'm here. Not such a hard thing. 

"Hey, Chief, what the hell are you watching?" 

"Hmm?" Okay, not usually such a hard thing to do. But whatever this is, he seems to be fairly engrossed in it. Time to step things up a little. 

Crossing the room, I bend over his shoulder and plant my hand in the middle of his notebook. "Chief, I asked what you're watching." 

"Jim? Hey, man, when'd you get home?" He looks happy to see me, this is definitely an improvement. 

Burying my face in the nest of curls, I nuzzle my way through until I find the sweet spot behind his ear and start nibbling. God, he tastes good. I can hear his pulse pick up, the soft thud of his pen as he drops it on the notebook, the slide of paper against fabric as the notebook falls to the floor. Now he's turning, meeting my questing lips with his own as strong arms encircle my shoulders and tug me over the back of the couch. 

I land half on him, half on the back cushions, never once breaking the kiss, not willing to lose the taste of his mouth, the thrust of his tongue against mine. Not even for the time it would take to circle the couch. This amazes me still, this connection I feel to Blair, this need I have for him. It's been over a year and I still can't stop touching him, wanting him. It was never like this with Carolyn. Never. But then she never tasted like this. Never felt so right writhing beneath me. Her moans never shot straight to my groin the way his do. 

Panting, hard as a rock, I pull back and look down into his face. Those curls I love to run my fingers through are spread out around this face, like a dark halo. His eyes, darkened almost to a midnight blue by passion, still seem to glow as they watch me through heavy lids. And his lips, God he really has the sweetest mouth in the world, they're already swollen from the intensity of our kisses and I still want to swoop down for more. 

"Jim, man, what're you doing?" He reaches for me, but I easily catch his hands, pinning them over his head and continuing my observations. "Jim? Hello?" 

"I'm looking." I whisper it softly, almost too softly for him to hear, and I can see the blood rushing to his face as I dip down quickly to kiss the spot where shoulder becomes neck. He's still blushing when I look at him again, for someone as outgoing as Sandburg is, he can be downright bashful when it comes to his looks. 

I told him once how much I love the taste of him, all the tastes of him. How it was so much better than the taste of Carolyn or any other woman I'd been with, but he just blamed it on the senses. Not true, I've kissed Carolyn since my senses came back online. Hell, I've probably kissed a couple dozen women. And believe me, it's not the senses, it's him. Every glorious inch of him. But it always seems to embarrass him, so I don't tell him that as often as I'd like. 

"So, Jim, are you planning on _doing_ anything?" He's trying to sound annoyed, but I can hear contained laughter in his voice. "Or are you just going to lie there looking at me all night?" 

"What if I am?" I reach up to push one lazy strand of hair from his face and my heart nearly skips a beat when he closes his eyes and leans into my touch. God, how can he not know how beautiful he is? My voice cracks when I continue, emotion stealing the humor from my reply. "I like looking at you." 

He's blushing again, this time even deeper than before and whatever control allowed me to keep this small distance between us vanishes. I dive into that my mouth again, letting my tongue wage a war that either one of us would be happy to lose. Caressing his tongue with mine, I could tell you everything he's had to eat today, but I don't care about that, don't feel the need to separate and analyze when what I really want lies beneath them, that unique flavor that's a part of this beautiful man I love. 

He's moaning into my mouth now, thrusting his erection up to meet mine, and if I thought it was impossible to get any harder than I was, I was wrong. I'm so hard now that I feel like I could split the seams on my jeans if I moved even an inch, but I have to move because if I don't, I'm going to come right here just from kissing him. And that's not what I want, not now. I want to come buried deep inside of him. I want to thrust against his prostate and see him so shattered by passion that my beautiful, brilliant partner can't even remember his own name. 

So, I tear myself away reluctantly, so damn reluctantly, and stand next to the couch reaching my hand down to him. He's lying there, looking up at me, dazed, confused and so damn decadent that I question my own sanity for wanting to delay this even a moment more. But the memory of the last time, the feeling of Blair's body surrounding me, the sound of my name as he screamed it in passion, are enough to steady my resolve. 

"Come on." I take him by the arm, gently, and pull him up off the couch. "Let's take this upstairs." 

"Upstairs? Upstairs?" Bewildered blue eyes peer at me through a forest of lashes. "Upstairs?" 

"That's the general idea." I nudge him toward the end of the couch, but he seems to be determined to stay rooted in place, staring at me as if I've just suggested shooting his puppy. 

"You expect me to make it upstairs like this?" He gestures toward the stiff shaft straining against his zipper. 

"You can do it, slugger." I run my hand over his crotch, squeezing lightly, but I'm not sure who this teases more. "Just think about something else for a minute." 

"Something else? Man, I can't believe you're doing this to me. What the hell am I supposed to think about?" 

He's even cute when he whines, but I'm not about to encourage that, so I pull him to my side and steer him around the end of the couch. "Think about baseball. Or your mom." 

"My mom? Man," he shakes his head and grins at me, "you are seriously warped if you think talking about Naomi is going to put me in the mood for anything." 

Okay, I've got to go with him on that one, so what's a safe enough topic to get us upstairs? "You never told me what you were watching." 

"What I was watching?" He looks confused again, but at least we're making progress toward the stairs. 

"When I came in. You were watching some TV movie with a screaming woman." That's it, just a few more steps. Maybe I should start taking his clothes off now, save some time once we get there. 

I'm attacking the buttons on his shirt and backing him up the stairs when he finally realizes what I'm talking about. 

"Oh, that, yeah. It's just something I was taking notes on for my paper on the media's victimization of women through popular culture." 

Now I feel a twinge of guilt, not enough to keep me from peeling his shirt off and tossing it over my shoulder before starting to unbutton his jeans, but still a twinge. It was schoolwork, after all, and he has little enough time for that as it is, thanks to me. "Is this going to screw up your paper if you miss it?" 

"Huh?" He looks up from making short work of my shirt to flash me a grin. "No way, it's on Lifetime." Obviously something in my face portrayed my complete lack of a clue, because he continues to explain. "You know, television for women? Believe me, that movie will be on at least five more times before this weekend." 

Given that it's Wednesday already, I find that statement a little hard to believe, but we're at the top of the stairs now and Blair's standing in front of me wearing nothing more than nature intended, so I detach from my guilt, with love, of course, and pull a willing Sandburg into my arms. 

The kiss that follows leaves us both lying breathless on the bed as I scramble out of my remaining clothes. Rolling him beneath me, I fumble in the drawer. Where the hell is it? Please don't tell me we're . . . YES! My hand closes around a tube and I send up a quick prayer of thanks. If stopping again didn't kill me, Sandburg probably would. 

Tearing myself from his lips, from the sweetness within, I begin working my way down his body. Once again amazed at the variety of tastes I discover, the salty tang of sweat, the sweet musk beneath his arms, the dark honey of his nipples and the sharp metallic tingle of the delicate silver ring that I thread my tongue through. I can't resist giving it a quick tug, just to hear the whimper it produces as he thrashes up beneath me, desperate for stimulation. 

Moving lower, I make a quick detour through the pool of sweat in his navel before descending to my real prize. Jimmy's favorite all day sucker. If I didn't think Simon would eventually break down the door looking for us, I could happily spend all day in bed just mapping out the feel of it against my tongue, savoring the bittersweet salt of his come. This time is no different, the second I touch my tongue to the tip of it, the concentrated taste of pure Blair explodes across my tastebuds. 

I open my jaw, devouring him whole, running my tongue over length of him, lightly grazing him with my teeth, increasing the suction in my mouth. My senses get so lost in the give and take rhythm I've established and the sounds of Blair going slowly out of his mind above me, that I almost forget my ultimate goal. He's thrusting into my mouth, babbling in a language I've never heard of, one hand pulling sharply on his nipple ring while the other flails helplessly against the bed. Now I ask you, who could think of anything else at a time like this? 

But while my mind may not be far behind Blair's, my body still remembers what it's here for and some blessed autopilot directs my lubed finger to his hole, commands it to press inward and slowly tease him open. A second finger works it's way in, brushing across that tiny nub inside of him before he arches off the bed, screaming my name and flooding my mouth with hot come. I grab on tightly, supporting his hips with my free hand as I milk him dry. 

Panting and weak, Blair lies bonelessly on the bed, staring glassy-eyed at the skylights. I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful. I move between his legs, caressing his thighs, his hip, whatever I can reach as I lift his pelvis. Aligning myself with that dark, secret place, I reach out to grab his hands, to anchor myself to something real and solid before plunging into a pleasure I know will destroy me and that's when I see his eyes. He's looking up at me again, his eyes so dark that even I have trouble making out the color, his expression so sultry, so full of the want and need of me, that I'm consumed on the spot. 

I don't remember entering him, I just know that he's surrounding me now, his muscles caressing me, tight and hot and as close to heaven as I'll ever know. I need to move, but I can't, I can't, because I can't lose this sensation, this sweet pressure that encases me, and then I am moving. Slowly, sweetly, long sweeping strokes in and out of his body, watching myself disappear into him, wishing I could keep going, wishing he could swallow me whole, wishing this moment would never end. 

But then I hit his prostate gland and that's when I know that as good as this is, it isn't going to last. It's too good, too much, no one could ever survive this much pleasure for long. Adjusting my stroke, I strike it again, harder, and Blair bucks up beneath me, screaming my name, gripping my hands tightly, legs locked around my waist trying to push me even deeper. I drive into him, again and again, attacking his prostate repeatedly until he's thrashing incoherently, shouting out nonsensical phrases, broken only by his shuddering breaths. With my last bit of lucidity, I skim my hand up his chest, threading through the soft curls of hair, and reaching for the gleam of silver. One quick twist and he's exploding into air around me, long spurts that look almost painful as he arches off the bed. That's all it takes, the sight of him, his graceful contortions, the smell of his come filling the air around us, his muscle waving and rippling around me, I slam into him one final time, spilling myself inside him in a relief so profound that it mirrors death. 

For one long moment, we're frozen like this, two bodies twisted by passion, before collapsing spent. It take all the strength I have left and my last functioning braincells to gently disengage from him before crawling up his body to fall against his heaving chest, letting the slowing rhythm of his heart lull me to sleep. I never did get my dinner or the game, but somehow I can't find it in me to mind. 

  * * * 



And especially to Keri for inspiring me to write something I could torture her with. 


End file.
